Melting pot of the sins of the earth
by Republic of Yolossia
Summary: They could fall and die free, or they could stay and die in the electric chair. A horrid choice, but Hunapo didn't have time to contemplate the events that had lead them to this as they were being hunted. And so they let themselves fall into the burning wasteland below. Maybe it was what they deserved after all? OzNZ, dieselpunk
1. Unwanted

_Logan Apari Cooper- Australia_

 _Oscar Orad Cooper- Hutt River_

 _…_

 _This may be a new story, yes. But I've had this idea for a while now and originally put it off until I had a smaller workload, or more specifically, until SOTF was over, thus I could always have the one cowboy/western-inspired fic on the go. But that's not gonna happen for a while so I decided to go ahead with this. Not gonna lie, it'll be slow at first._

 _Like a large chunk of my other worlds, it's inspired by real history, but at the same time removed from it, so try not to read too deep, and tackles some pretty heavy issues, this one more so than a lot of my previous stories. So be warned for that, and if there are things that upset you deeply, don't read this. For one thing, there will be blood, even in the first chapter, so proceed with caution._

 _Apart from that please tell me what you think. I hope people like this story too._

...

It was nice, having the family back together.

Logan could count the times he'd seen his father on one hand, and that made every visit almost sacred to him. He remembered each event clearly: when he was a roly-poly little toddler; before his little brother was born; another time, recently, when the two boys were both rather young; and now, just after the twins were born.

Every time his father turned up, it would be in the dead of night and he'd come with stories and songs and little crafts he'd built for them. He'd stay for a few days and that time would be wonderful, but all too soon he'd leave again- under the cover of darkness- before anyone saw him.

No one would've allowed them to be together. It was wrong, they would've said, and had said quite clearly. You can't mix or get married! They were enemies. Each side was an 'other', dirty, savage, disgusting and not to be trusted. Logan's parents fell in love anyway, though they couldn't have that married life with a nice house and children, at least not for the foreseeable future. Well, they had children, but only one parent got to see them, care for them, live with them. Maybe in a few decades, things would change and they could at least grow old together.

It didn't look likely, but Logan had hope.

"Do you think we need anything else?" Logan scanned the shopping list, a hard task to accomplish in the evening gloom, made more so by the fact that the two of them were hidden in an alley next to the little corner shop. Though it wasn't like they had much choice here. He wasn't even sure why his father had decided to accompany him at all; so much could go wrong.

"What else could your mother need?" his father asked with humour in his eyes. "She has half the town's supplies written down there."

His eyes were the same bright amber as his youngest two, shining and crinkled round the edges, and he had Logan's dark hair, messy and pulled into a ponytail trailing down his back. A life of living rough had aged his face before his time, and his clothes were torn and ragged, showing the tattoos, scars and markings he'd collected on his skin over the years.

"Well, it's a special occasion, when we see you," Logan beamed up at him. At 12 years old, he was almost as tall as his father now, lean and muscular from working on their tiny stretch of farm all day trying to save their ailing crops. It wasn't like he could get a job here, given that most of the town shunned his mother and her mixed children. He could get odd jobs farming and building from frail and sympathetic neighbours, but nothing permanent.

His father smiled warmly. "I hope you understand," he began, "I want us to be a family. If it could be any other way..."

"No, I understand." Logan understood far too well, he wasn't innocent like little Oscar; he could understand their situation first hand. "I should probably get going then." He lifted up the large basket his mother provided for him and walked into the street. Yes, he understood that this was the only shop he was allowed in, and that when his mother had to buy shopping, he was in charge of keeping himself and his brother hidden. Now the twins were here too- with their little wails and cries- it'd be all that more harder to hide under the floorboards silently. No one had ever come for them, and Oscar resented having to hide during playtime, but Logan and his mother knew the one day they slacked would most likely be the one day doing so was fatal. And few people even knew about Oscar and the twins. If the people of the town had murder in their hearts, it was directed at Logan and his mother, and his father, though no one had seen him before.

Logan knew there were people in the town who would happily see him dead, a select few would would do the job themselves, if they were presented with an opportunity. He was a mistake that wasn't meant to exist.

Which was why, when Logan went out himself, he was paranoid to the point that he could barely walk down a tiny, deserted street without seeing shadows from every corner and crevice, enemies behind every door. And even here there were limits.

He could buy from his shop, but his father would never be allowed to do such a thing.

As Logan entered the little building, the place seemed calmly quiet, and he could hear his footsteps across the soft wood as he moved between the shelves.

"Evening Mr Kirkland," he beamed.

The shopkeeper, Arthur, tipped his hat. "Evening, young Cooper. Is your mother well?"

Logan nodded and continued his shop, keeping his eyes firmly on the list. Their mother had a very specific names system for all her children: forenames after a member of the family that had shunned her, middle names after the family that left their father alone, and her surname. Well, she wasn't married, after all.

That was the one thing he didn't understand about his mother. Why would she name her children after people who no longer cared for her? He supposed, deep down, she loved her family, even if they didn't seem to love her anymore. He wondered what his father thought of their middle names. They were the ones he used for them though, despite having such similar bad connotations.

Still, it wasn't Logan's place to question his parents' actions, so he just went along with it.

Logan's shop was torn between wanting to hurry, so he could get back to his father before something happened, and wanting to look calm and unsuspicious in front of Mr Kirkland, and his one other customer.

Logan avoided eye contact with the man in the corner, vaguely familiar and reading a newspaper sheet he'd just paid for, but he swore the guy was watching him. He didn't look though, slowly placing a jar of jam in his basket. Oscar loved fruits and sweet food, but wasn't the biggest fan of boiled sweets. Funny child.

As he scanned the shelf of different wrapped cheeses, the strange man made his way to the exit, brushing past the boy as he did so. Logan suppressed a shiver and wondered if they really needed shopping after all. He wanted to get back to his father, but he wasn't sure if it was to protect the guy or because he wanted protection.

Logan scowled. He was the oldest here, the first born! He was supposed to be brave!

And with that, he gathered up the last few items and placed the basket on the counter.

"And a sack of flour too, sir," he added, indicating to the hulking bags by the door.

"Of course."

"Oh, my mother told me to tell you the twins were born last week," Logan added as Arthur punched prices into a large till, "boy and girl, both healthy."

"Oh that's wonderful," Arthur smiled, not ecstatic, but not hostile either, "tell her I said congratulations." Himself and their mother were old friends, nearly betrothed, and Mr Kirkland was still determined to care for the girl he loved and her children, even if they or her love would never be his.

"Will do!"

Logan waited for everything to be priced up before handing over the money he received building a shed for a neighbour and picking up the basket. He hung it from an arm and he pulled a flour sack out the door.

His father was still safely hidden, looking at him curiously as he dragged his haul over.

"Mind taking the basket?" he asked, handing the thing over.

"Of course. That looks heavy," his father winced as Logan shifted the flour onto his back, but the boy just beamed.

"I can manage!" His trembling, knobbly knees said otherwise.

And with that, they set off, navigating the same series of side-streets and back alleys they'd used to reach their destination to get home. The soft wood used to cover the pavements cracked and creaked under Logan's heavy boots and he didn't like the sound at all. Their town was a collection of low, wooden houses, many starting to take on a derelict appearance. The main street, dissecting the place, was the only wide road, with planks acting as pavements running outside the row of shops bordering both sides of the street. This was where most of the shops were, and the smaller roads, where the residential buildings stood, were far thinner, barely wide enough for the two men. Lamps hung from hooks above doorways, thick curtains blocked the views in the tiny windows and dirty water trickled into the gaps in the planks from pipes and guttering. Logan, in all honesty, preferred the place during the day. His favourite place of all was the field just beyond their land, that rose slowly into the hills he'd watch for hours on end in the hopes that he'd find his father, silhouetted against the skyline. It never happened though; he knew better than to show up while the sun was still up.

"What would Josephine need with all this food?" his father asked curiously, "I am not that big, and I know you boys are growing, but this is ridiculous."

"Well, all this can last between two weeks and a month, if we store and ration correctly," Logan explained, "saves us going into town often."

"Well, in that case, this does not seem like much. Still not looking up then?" His father sighed.

"How can it actually get better?" Logan mimicked a sigh. "Honestly, we'd be better off with you."

There was a pause before his father spoke again. "Josephine and I… we have discussed it. I would love more than anything for us all to live together out there, and I really think we would be happy."

Logan's smile fell. "But?"

"Four children out in the Wilderness?" His father pulled a face, "including two tiny babies? Not safe. I could never protect you all. If there was an extended network of family to look out for everyone, I would agree right away."

"I'm nearly a grown man," Logan mumbled with a pout.

"But you know nothing of surviving a hostile environment. You don't know how to hunt or defend yourself."

"Maybe," Logan thought for a long moment, "what if, when Osc-Orad is old enough to look after everyone, I go with you and learn what I need to. Then we can all leave this place and be a family."

His father considered the suggestion, a small smile on his face. "That could work. Yes, a very good idea, Apari. It would take some time, but… yes. I might even take you with me next time I visit, if Josephine permits."

"Do you think she will?" Logan grinned so hard it was painful, "oh that would be fantastic!"

"Try not to get your hopes up too much though," his father warned, though he was laughing, "you funny little boy."

"Mum says I'm funny too," Logan commented, "odd. I don't even try to be."

"I doubt being funny is something you have to try at," his father pondered, "you either are, or you are not. Though what some people find funny, others will find offensive or bland. I suppose in a way, we all are funny to someone."

"You're not," Logan mumbled jokingly, "you make everything a big long boring lecture."

Well, his father laughed at any rate.

They were nearly home now, just a few more streets to go, including this particularly wide one where the farmer's market was held every Sunday. Again, it was empty of life, besides them and a rat scurrying past.

However, there was a creak and his father's voice died mid-laugh; they weren't alone anymore.

Five… eight, no, ten men had joined them, blocking off all exits and carrying an assortment of rather intimidating weapons, from knives to bats, splintered and riddled with nails. Logan recognised them all as locals, young, barely older than himself, but the gleaning hate in their eyes sent him hiding behind his father like the terrified child he was.

"Can I help you young men?" his father asked calmly. Logan couldn't tell if he was scared too or not, but could guess the answer to that pretty damn easily.

"Our parents told you to get out of town," one, clearly the bravest, stepped forward. "Thirteen years ago, wasn't it? What the fuck are you doing back."

"Minding my own business," his father replied simply. "Am I not allowed to visit my son?"

He got no reply. Instead, those behind them moved forward, inch by inch. Slow and malicious. Every hair on Logan's body was prickling, and he couldn't shake the feeling that hands were hovering just over his back, ready to strike. When he glanced behind him, there was nothing there, except the men drawing nearer.

The first blow was a shock to him, and he leapt back as a bat collided with his father's stomach. Logan wasted no time before retaliating, and dropped the flour before darting forward. He swung his scrawny fists wildly. They were easily blocked.

"Apari, get back," his father growled, pushing the boy behind him.

"No! I can help!" Logan's eyes burned with tears and humiliation as he was held back. They were attacking from all sides now, his father simply unable to defend himself and his son at the same time.

It hurt. The weapons cracked against his ribs and shoulders, sending Logan to the ground with a cry. He could do nothing here and it destroyed him.

His father was pulled away and lost in the crowd. Logan's fists were useless. He wouldn't give up the fight, but there was nothing he could do to defend himself. The flour sack had split in the commotion, and the frenzy of boots and swinging weapons kicked up a cloud of white dust. He could barely see his attackers now, and thankfully they were having trouble seeing him. He ducked down and curled into a ball, hoping that would protect him from the worst of it. Tears and flour streaked his cheeks, powerlessness washed over him and his pathetic whimpers made sure his attackers always had a general idea of where he was. His forehead was bleeding now, and a knife had cut deep across his face, nearly splitting his nose in half.

When would they leave? Weren't they bored yet? Was his father fighting back too much to handle? A horror of a thought made its way into his mind, and he knew they wouldn't leave until both men were dead.

"Apari, run!" he heard his father cry. "Get to the others!"

Logan couldn't move. He cried to himself, swearing that he couldn't leave his father alone like this!

"Apari!" He heard shoves and punches as his father burst through the ring of assailants launching themselves at the boy, throwing flour and dust into their eyes and the air. "Get up!" he growled, yanking Logan by the arm, "get to your mother!"

"I can't leave you," Logan sobbed, stumbling to his feet. "I can help!"

"You can help by getting everyone to safety. You have to take your chances in the Wilderness. I will buy you as much time as I can!" They pushed through the crowd and his father shoved him away. "Go!" he cried.

"But-"

"Go, my son! Please."

He didn't move. By now some of their assailants had regained their sight, and were after them with a newfound lust for blood.

"I cannot lose any of you."

There were tears in his father's eyes as he turned to face them, and Logan's legs somehow sent him dashing in the other direction. If he could get to his mother, she'd know what to do. They could find a way to help him!

Maybe his father would rejoin them when they were fleeing into the Wilderness and everything would be fine.

He made it to the end of the street before he let temptation win and glanced behind him.

His father was on the floor now, and no one heard his child's screams as an axe was brought down in his chest.

...

 **I've mentioned this before on tumblr, but this fic is based on a steampunk/dieselpunk cowboys-themed OzNZ picture I did a while back that seemed to grow a story of it's own, something I hate when I draw things like that because it makes me want to write them. So, that picture, coupled with the music of Abney Park, Ghoultown and the Cog is Dead, created this little world for the characters to roam about in.**

 **I don't have much in the way of side pairings, besides TurkInd and HuttMol. The second one I'm always down to write, and the first I've never written before so that should be fun! I mean, there's spytalia, but I haven't got to the TurkInd bits yet.**

 **Oh, and yes the twins are Wy and Nyo Wy.**


	2. Hunted

_Hunapo Davies- New Zealand_

...

Their footsteps sent sprays of muddy water flying as their boots slapped the ground. The things were too heavy. Everything was heavy as their lungs screamed for air, like a vivid nightmare where they just couldn't get away in time. They weren't moving fast enough. They had to be faster! If they were found, they would be killed, no question about it.

Hunapo Davies was being hunted.

A vigilante mob had taken it upon themselves to role out rough justice on them, Hunapo already tried and found guilty in their eyes, and it was hot on their heels.

Hunapo ducked into an alleyway to catch their breath for a moment. All around them, the hulking, coal-coloured buildings rose into the grey sky, droplets of rain splashing the brim of their hat in time to the blinks of their eyes as their own tears joined the damp world around them. Their city of concrete and steel was their only ally now. It was protecting them as best it could from those who wished to harm them, but it was up to Hunapo to navigate its narrow streets to safety.

They gulped. Safety? It would be impossible to escape the city and live on. People only left when they wanted to die, the rest trapped in its labyrinth until they'd worked the life force out of themselves.

Still, Hunapo would rather die outside the city than be killed in it.

They took one final breath before setting off again, ignoring their scrapes and bruises where they'd stumbled in their haste to escape. It was nothing compared to what was to come.

It had taken a mere hour for the people of the city to form a horde bent on revenge, aiding the police and army in their search for the fugitive, sweeping through the city until Hunapo would be trapped in a corner, terrified and begging for mercy that would never come.

The mob would beat Hunapo to death; the army would shoot on sight; and the police would catch them alive, throw them in a cell, and if they survived the other prisoners, they'd eventually be electrocuted in the chair. There was not a chance in a million of them being found not guilty.

As Hunapo ducked through the side streets, they came to the conclusion there was only one thing left they could possibly do.

Die free outside the city's walls.

Hunapo ducked into a main street, but shouts and gunshots sent them flying back to the safety of the alley. Not that way then.

They pulled themselves up an iron ladder, disappearing into a block of flats as the alley below filled with soldiers. Through a tunnel, down a flight of stairs, past a group of children kicking a battered football around, and out onto another street.

Peace and quiet.

They took off again at a jog, a mess of a plan forming in their head. A few more roads and Hunapo would be home, a stupid place to go, but necessary.

Another shortcut through a derelict building bought them time, and brought them further away from their assailants. The wondered if their home was still standing, or if there were already people standing cheering outside as they set Hunapo's livelihood on fire.

Hunapo gulped at the thought of their precious livestock burning to death and picked up the pace. One more road…

Their farm was on the edge of the city, small and in shambles, but their beloved home.

The road outside always made them feel dizzy, fearful that, even though there were fences to stop them plummeting to their death, they would lose their balance, or the wind would take them. The fences did little to stop people from jumping, and Hunapo had spent their entire life repairing the thing and talking people out of suicide, taking them home and just listening to them. They'd made many a lifelong friend this way.

And yet here they were, prepared to do the exact same thing.

Hunapo darted round the back of their house first, to the rather grim pen full of sheep. Space was rare here, and despite how much Hunapo hated it, a few square feet was all they could manage for their flock.

"Goodbye old friends," they murmured as they opened the gate, leaving it wide and not looking back. At least now they wouldn't be trapped and starve. Someone would find them and take them in. After opening the chicken coop, they made their way inside to pack.

Each minute spent here was another strap trapping them in the electric chair, but there were some things Hunapo wanted to take with them, to the other side, they supposed.

Their home consisted of one room, filled by a hammock hanging from the ceiling over a table. A loom sat in the corner, along with their comfy reading sofa and a pile of books. The windows were tiny, shutters closed over most of them. The place was neat, or as neat as Hunapo could manage, everything had it's place, even if that place was shoved on a shelf, the cupboard or in the corner on the floor. The fireplace was cold and dead, a pile of ash all that was left of last night's fire. And they would never see any of this again.

The first thing they grabbed was their pendant, carved by their cousin out of bone, and threw it around their neck. Better it be lost with them than someone in the damned city take it for themselves.

The only other thing they needed was their gun, to give them a fighting chance. Hunapo was a professional shooter as well as a farmer, and their prized possessions were a pair of ornate hunting rifles. Only one was left now, the other abandoned and empty in the centre of town. And to think, when they strapped it to their back this morning, ready to leave for the market, things would have gone so wrong.

A hand grabbed their neck, snapping it back as a knife was plunged into their abdomen. Hunapo cried out as they fell to the floor with a thud, clutching at the gash in their coat, a red river bubbling down to the floorboards.

"Well that was easy," commented a voice behind them. Hunapo couldn't bring themselves to look at their murderer.

"What a damned fool," boomed a second, "and I said they would not be stupid enough to return home!"

"Planning to murder more innocents?" The first voice asked, kicking the rifle under the chest of drawers. Hunapo didn't reply.

"So do we kill this bastard here or bring them into custody?" The second voice seemed to be pacing across the room, most likely with a weapon trained on their head.

"The prince wants them alive, if possible, probably wants to have a few words with the… ugh I hesitate to even call this scumbag a human."

Hunapo's arm twitched, creeping its way towards their belt.

"Why did you do it?" The second voice was behind him and they froze, glancing up to find a beaked mask as their suspicions were confirmed: the Eagle and the Falcon had found them.

Of course, the crime they were accused of… they were the most dangerous criminal in the city now and on the run. The prince would send his personal bounty hunters after them.

"Tell me! Why did you do it?" The raw emotion in the Eagle's voice caught them off guard. They were professionals, hard and cold and secretive.

A kick to the fugitive's stomach brought no answers to the Eagle's ears, and his companion grabbed his arm to pull him back.

"Calm yourself," the Falcon murmured, "they will get what is coming to them."

Hunapo's fingers curled around the knife in their belt, wedged between their body and the floor, nice and hidden. Their vision blurred and the pain throbbing through their torso drove them to bite their lip until it too bled. Those two would get nothing out of them.

With the last of their strength, they flung the knife at the bounty hunters, hauling themselves up and throwing their body out the door. Ignoring the shouts behind them, they hobbled over to the fence across the road, squeezing through the one gap they hadn't got round to repairing, marking out their slow and shaky route in their own blood. They tried not to look at it, for fear their vomit would join the mess.

At the edge of the city, their world, the wind howled around them, drops of rain attacking their face as they turned away from the abyss. They trembled, weak and dizzy and threatening to fall back at any minute.

The bounty hunters were outside, following their moves with arrows trained on them. They never missed. The masks on their faces shone, damp as their cloaks and boots, and even from where they were, Hunapo could feel their calmness, their arrogance.

"Go on then," boomed the Eagle, "jump. Die and we will scoop up your body."

"They would never," the Falcon replied, voice slow and even, "they'll be on their knees in minutes, pulling at our capes and pleading."

Hunapo glanced behind them, at the expanse of cloud that swirled around them. Their coat billowed out over the side and the wind snatched their hat away. Hunapo could do nothing but stare as it vanished below, down to the Wilderness. Another wave of pain and they were doubled over, tears in their eyes.

"I'm innocent!" they bellowed.

"Really?" The Eagle placed a hand on his hip, "that is the angle you decided to go for?"

"If you are innocent, then stop this foolishness," the Falcon stepped forward, "come, the prince will give you a fair trial."

Hunapo laughed, mad from the pain. "Liar!"

The laugh persevered as they threw themselves to their death.


	3. The suicide tree

_William 'Bili' Mandu Cooper- Nyo Wy_

 _Charlotte 'Charlie' Manya Cooper- Wy_

 _Arjun Kapur- India_

 _Batsaikhan Naranbaatar- Mongolia_

 _…_

 _Oh bloody hell this is tardy! Still, I did say it'll be slow, and although this is one of the stories I'm most excited about, I do want to get some other things done first before I fully commit to pumping out chapters, such as finishing 'Standing outside the fire' completely and updating other things. I'll probably be too invested in this fic to put it on full hiatus anytime soon though. I just really like writing the Oceanic family and being a dick to them!_

 _There's also the problem that I don't fully feel I'm doing the characters and story enough justice. I feel like my writing's going backwards because I don't feel like my brain's fully there a lot of the time. My medication's been making me so damn tired for months and I'm not sure I've been putting as much effort into my writing, getting distracted and cutting corners at times. I'm so sorry for that._

 _Warning for some pretty graphic suicide mentions here, and I'm being serious about that. In addition, the general dark atmosphere is continuing on and isn't letting up so be warned. Seriously, it's not gonna get fluffy or optimistic anytime soon so turn back now if that's what you want._

 _A good song to listen to for this is 'Wanderlust' by Abney Park, by the way. Apart from that, enjoy!_

...

Logan cheered and whooped as his ride soared across the sky, slicing through clouds of smoke. The warm rush of air danced through his coat, and his goggles kept the dirt and grime from blinding him as he navigated past the many hazards of the Wilderness.

He stood in front of his wagon, a boot on the back of both horses pulling the thing, clutching their reins in one hand. The engines of the mechanical beasts whirred and spat out smoke as they struggled to remain in the air, aided by the propeller rising out of the canvas roof of the wagon.

Logan dipped and dived, swirling past rocks and dead trees whilst on either side of him, his little brother and sister galloped on their own horses, cheering and yelping as they span and looped over and under the obstacles. They loved travelling like this, with only the wind and each other for company. William and Charlotte- Bili and Charlie- both at ten years old, were more skilled at horseback riding than many of the adults he'd encountered in the big cities. Even now, William was up on his feet, copying his oldest brother's pose with one hand on the reins, the other keeping himself balanced. Charlie took a calmer approach, perched on her saddle and looking at her twin in disdain. She and Oscar were the sensible half of the family, the ones who weren't recklessly looking for the fastest way to fall in a lava pit.

Logan couldn't help but worry here though; this was the most dangerous area of the Wilderness and he didn't want to see his children- his only family- injured on his watch. Luckily thou gh, there weren't any large predators to contend with outside of the forests to the south, and they rarely needed to travel there. Not that this place was without numerous dangers, such as pitfalls, lava pools, deposits of toxic gas, clouds obscuring their vision, and wildfires.

There was no other way to travel between the cities- not that Logan even bothered trying to enter those anymore- so other travellers were rather rare. The only people they ever came into contact with were other nomads like themselves, usually at shabby little bazaar posts in the slightly-less-dangerous spots, most friendly enough, some a little more malicious. Logan's young body was covered in scars from defending the children against such lowlife filth.

Maybe settling down would've been a better idea, but there was nowhere to fit into and call home. No one wanted a gaggle of 'half-and-half' orphans making the locals uneasy, no matter who or what those locals were. Logan wasn't sure he wanted to settle down at all, and put the younger ones through a life of not fitting in, of being trapped in a hulking, choking city with nothing to do but factory work. There really was nothing to do but wander, trading whatever they could make at the bazaars that were their constant- and only- destinations. Maybe one day they could find a home, but it wouldn't be up there, in the skies where people hundreds of years ago had built cities of iron on the corpses of ancient trees, or the few plateaus the Wilderness had to offer.

Still, the further north they migrated, the safer things became. Up there, there was just barren rock and dirt for miles on every side and a glaring sun. At least, up north, they had some clue as to where they were going and could see obstacles right in front of their eyes.

But north was where their old village lay.

Oscar himself was curled up in the wagon, probably carving away at another decorative box, or sewing away at a hide satchel they could trade for food or something equally useful. He was skilled with his hands, his brilliant mind a world of creative possibilities. He could build something useful from nothing, transforming pieces of scrap into little accessories or gadgets they found they could no longer live without, and when each doodad was crafted he would hand it over to the twins, who- with even the basic paints they blended from plants, powder, anything they could find- made Oscar's creations beautiful, dazzling enough to stand out among the drab wears sold at every bazaar. Logan was so proud of his clever little siblings! He simply didn't know what he'd do without them all.

He pulled his mask further up his face. The leather made him sweat and the thing slip and slide but Oscar's present made damn well sure dust and ash didn't clog up his pipes and make him sick, and the kid did say the next scrap of material he came across would be used to line the inside of his mask. And whilst the mask was most definitely a useful creation on Oscar's part, it did very little to combat the blistering heat blanketing the world under these clouds, worse than even the glaring sun of the deserts.

No wonder the settled people built their cities in the sky.

"Logie, up ahead!" called little Bili from his horse, "people!"

Logan narrowed his eyes, peering over at where his brother was pointing, and recoiled in horror. Up ahead was a tree, a tree he'd passed several times on his migrations already, and knew very well, unfortunately. He had no idea what this behemoth of a plant was called, but the Coopers referred to it as 'the Suicide Tree', and for good reason.

The tree itself was long dead, held together by steel beams and bolts, snaking into the sky to hold up yet another city built on the skeletons of these giants. The trunk stretched for miles either side, but the most startling aspect was the piles upon piles of bodies littering the floor and branches, from the recently deceased to broken skeletons. They hung from the tree like grotesque baubles, speared on the branches marinated with dried blood soaked into the wood. People of all ages lay dead, from the desperately lonely elderly, to whole families with babies and small children, rich politicians to lowly beggars, the powerful, the pitiful, everyone imaginable ended up throwing themselves to their deaths.

Our dear Hunapo endeavoured day and night to stop neighbours and strangers from taking the plunge, but it was a mere drop in the ocean of misery prevailing their city, and so many others had taken their own lives over the years to escape Logan-didn't-know-what, and he wasn't at all keen to find out. He'd never ventured into the city, though he would never bring his children to any place as built up as this for their own safety. Other people had proven time and time again that mankind just wasn't worth trusting.

"Bili," he growled, "get back from there it's dangerous."

William pouted as he drew back, but knew better than to disobey Logan in a place like this; his brother's word was the difference between life and death out here, and always had been.

"You too, Charlie," he called to his sister, not taking his eyes off the Suicide Tree, half-visible through the clouds.

The twins drew closer, dismounting as Logan landed the wagon next to them.

"Get inside and stay with your brother," he told them as Oscar poked his head through the tarpaulin curtain covering of the wagon.

"What happened?" he asked, fine features creased with worry. His hands, gripping the sides of the wagon, were covered in sawdust, as were his clothes and face, shirt grimy which Logan knew his brother hated.

"The Suicide Tree," he grunted, crawling under the wagon, and lo-and-behold it was still there, his most prized possession. Over the years, Logan had been collecting scrap bike parts, at first to annoy the tidy Oscar, then, about five years ago, he came across something in a bazaar that changed his life: blueprints for an old model of bike, one he had many of the parts for, and traded for it right away. The next three years were spent painstakingly putting the thing back together, collecting every little piece, welding, hammering, painting until he had a motorbike of his very own.

Petrol was more expensive than their budget would allow, so Logan didn't use his beloved bike very often, not outside of an emergency, and this certainly was one. Every incident where the Cooper siblings had had the misfortune to cross paths with the Suicide Tree had resulted in Logan scaling the thing as high as he could, never going into the city, just simply checking for survivors to nurse back to health. Logan didn't care who they were or what they'd done, only that they be given a second chance away from a city that clearly hated them. So far he'd saved a measly seven people, but that was seven people who could live again.

This time, like the last time, he at least had his bike to make the job easier. Performing stupidly reckless stunts was his one true love- no matter how easily everything could go wrong and the little ones end up orphans again- and his hands twitched and tingled as he unstrapped his bike from the bottom of the wagon and pulled it out. Last time he'd done this, he'd not only saved four people, but had the biggest thrill of his life vertically scaling the trunk of the tree, and fear was obsolete as he gazed up at the thing again.

"Oh please," Oscar rolled his eyes as he helped the twins into the wagon, "not this again."

"It is the easiest way," Logan replied grimly.

"The most fun for you, perhaps."

"And don't you think I deserve a little something in return for what I am about to do? This is not the most pleasant of tasks."

And s o he mounted the bike, revving up the engine with some difficulty- although Logan was technically minded at times, and knew his bike inside out, he wasn't a mechanic at heart, had no training, and the thing was incredibly old. Every day it didn't fall apart was a miracle, no matter how many evenings Logan had spent tinkering with the thing before bed.

Still, the motorbike eventually sputtered into life, greeting him with a low, rumbling growl and Logan spurred forward, course set for one particularly thick root, sticking out of the arid earth like the perfect ramp. He shot up the trunk onto the nearest branch, pausing to check for signs of life among those lying there, whilst down below he saw Oscar leave his siblings in the wagon to study those on the ground.

Logan moved from branch to branch on his bike, searching everyone speared across the few metres of the Suicide Tree below the apparent jumping point. Sometimes he wondered what it was about that particular area up above that was so attractive to those wishing to die. Maybe there were some flowers people could admire for the last time?

Logan's search brought him higher and higher, if had it been a clear day, he could've seen for miles, but as it were, the clouds of fog swirled around him, and the higher he drove, the harsher the wind howled around him. The bike swayed dangerously, but he didn't care. On and on he went, searching desperately for anyone who could still be alive. There was no one though, only bodies.

He drove his bike forward and leapt onto another branch, this one thinner and swaying dangerously. Well, time it get off, it seemed, lest Logan wanted to take a plunge and join these unfortunates. He wouldn't be climbing for long though, as there was clearly no one alive.

He began scaling the tree, boots rammed into every little crack in the trunk they could find, whilst his hands were soon covered in splinters. He tried to ignore the pain of it- he could just pick them out later- but knew damn well he couldn't keep up this pace. The next branch he climbed to would be his last for sure.

There was no one up here, save for one soul hanging by the collar of their coat the next branch over. The person in question was so tiny Logan simply assumed it was just an empty, bloodied, coat at first. Logan studied their still form as he caught his breath, from their curly mop of hair to that oversized trench coat, the collar of which was the only thing keeping them from the ground. They hung over the precipice like a shirt on a peg, and judging by the twigs in their hair and the broken branches above, had had something of a rough fall, though it certainly was better than a straight plummet to certain death.

Logan wondered if they were still alive, or if their movements were simply from the wind. They were bleeding pretty heavily, and were pale like a corpse, though Logan couldn't tell if they were dead or had just lost a lot of blood.

And then the stranger groaned.

The noise was tiny and pitiful, but Logan's heart leapt for joy at the thought that someone here was still alive, and he himself leapt onto the next branch- the one they were hanging from- to retrieve them. The branch swayed dangerously, and the stranger groaned again as they were jostled and rocked.

Logan's heart stopped, and he held his breath, not daring to move an inch as he watched them sway. He couldn't lose this stranger too. What did it matter if he didn't know them or what they'd done or were capable of? A life was a life, and he was determined to preserve this one.

But the stranger didn't fall. And so, Logan crept forward, inch by inch, moving as slowly as his loud, proud self could manage. Subtle wasn't something Logan prided himself on, but here he knew he needed to be careful.

He was near the edge now, about as far along the branch as it could handle yet still too far away from the stranger to grab them. Logan stretched out his arm, fingers grasping frantically at thin air, but the collar of the stranger's coat was just out of reach. He scowled, wiggling closer but to no avail.

The branch was sagging now, and Logan knew he'd have to accept they both weren't getting out of this. And as much as he hated the thought of this person dying a slow, painful death up here, there didn't seem to be a way to get them down, and he needed to stay alive for his children. Logan just had to accept that this stranger was not worth dying for, but no matter how much he told himself it was for the best, his heart went out to the tiny figure he knew nothing about, only that they were so miserable they'd tried to end their own life.

Logan didn't want to leave them to slowly starve though, and he didn't know how aware they were but even a tiny shred of consciousness would just be torture. There was nothing else for it, he decided as he drew his gun, a rusty old hunting rifle strapped to his back, but put this person out of their misery.

He pulled himself into a kneeling position, training the gun on the other's head, not an easy task when they were still swaying. Logan's hand trembled, no matter how hard he tried to focus. It wasn't like he'd never killed before, but it was not something to be done unless in defence of himself or the children, and now it felt wrong. He was powerless to save even a single life here.

Logan sighed, gritted his teeth, and took aim again. He hardened his heart, closed his eyes, and fired.

And missed.

The bullet missed the stranger by a fraction, but before Logan could begin to wonder if he was relieved or disappointed, a crack almost as resounding as a gunshot filled the air as the branch snapped and the pair of them plummeted down.

Logan took his chance and lunged forward, finally able to grab onto the stranger's collar with one hand whilst dropping his gun with the other in order to grab out blindly. Success! His fingers clasped around another branch, snapping but breaking their speed enough for him to wrap his arm around the next branch, the one his bike was perched on. The thing rocked dangerously, but didn't break. Neither did the bike join his gun through the clouds below, thankfully.

Logan pulled himself and the stranger up, now letting out a low, steady groan at the commotion, face creased in pain and thick brows knotted together. He held them in his thick arms- they felt so fragile compared to him- and observed them closely for the first time. The stranger looked young, like himself, with thick brown hair and a little round nose. He wasn't completely sure if they were male or female- possibly male- but he was certain the way their arm was angled wasn't normal. Their lower arm was broken pretty bad, bone sticking out through the skin and he gagged before turning his head.

This person needed urgent medical attention Logan wasn't in any position to give, but the nearest bazaar was still some journey away. Sighing, he lifted them onto his back, removing his dusty scarf from his neck to tie them in place. Maybe Oscar could work something temporary out until they got to civilisation; the boy was the smartest of the four, after all.

Content that the stranger was secure on his back, Logan mounted the bike again, the thing revving up and he shot forward, up the trunk, turning in a wide circle, and then hurtling downwards like an arrow. The ground shot towards him, and he barreled down to the ground, levelling out and coming to halt just past his wagon with a screech.

"Logie?" Oscar bounded over, caked in dust and with a new hat he'd supposedly picked up somewhere. Callous, but who else was around to need it? The boy also had his gun, thankfully, because what would he do out here without it?

"I found someone," he untied his scarf and scooped up the stranger's body, cradling them gently.

"My God," the boy gasped as he studied them, "that must have been quite a fall."

"But you can fix him? Her? This person?"

"How? I know nothing of-" the look on his brother's face brought Oscar's words to a halt. He knew. His own search had been near-fruitless, save for a few items of clothing salvaged, and a handful of supplies. This was the only living being in the Suicide Tree's arms, and his brother wanted to protect them. "I will try," he sighed instead. He knew the most basic of first aid, enough- hopefully- to keep this stranger alive until they found a doctor.

But they wouldn't have long. A surgeon and his wife often frequented the bazaar they were headed for, but it would only be through sheer luck that they catch him. Not that this stranger's life was his biggest concern, but Logan seemed to have grown attached to the unconscious person, so he supposed it would be best to act interested too.

Still, if they just hoped, this stranger would soon be up and on their merry way to make their own path in this dim world.

"Here, help me get this little fella onto the wagon," Logan hulked past him, Oscar trotting along behind and bounding over the wagon to hold open the curtain for his brother. Inside, the twins peered out at the stranger with interest.

"Oh, new friend?" asked Bili.

"I suppose," Oscar replied, climbing into the wagon after Logan had placed the stranger on the pile of blankets in the corner, "until the doctor fixes 'em up and we can send the poor bastard off."

"Hurt," Charlie mumbled, and for the first time, Logan saw the blood coming from the stranger's torso, black and dry.

"What on earth?" he mumbled, reaching for their coat but Oscar smacked his hand away.

"I am the medic here," he chided, "you just get us away from here. Hurry!"

So Logan simply drew back the curtain and packed everything away. With almost professional swiftness, he shoved his bike back under the wagon and tied the twin's horses to the back- Bili and Charlie could ride them again when they were somewhere less morbid.

It was probably the way he worked that ensured the wagon had just disappeared into the clouds when two more winged horses descended upon the Suicide Tree.

…

"It's gone," the Eagle muttered as he shook his head in disbelief, "we couldn't find that dog's body anywhere."

The prince's courtroom was lavish and colourful, every wall and pillar coated in paintings and engravings of his family's long, rich history, not a square inch left blank. The ceiling, too, was decorated down to the last corner, with arches carved by masters of the trade and bright paints that glittered. The room itself was lit by the evening sunlight filtering through thin curtains covering one wall and rows of candles in alcoves covering its opposite. The floor was marble, barely visible under the lush carpets and comfy poufs, and the Eagle loved lounging about the room when there was no one to hunt, often watching his son play with the prince's younger brothers in the adjacent garden. But now, he ignored the bowl of fruit and sweet incense on the table before him, ignored everything but the but the man draped across his father's ruby throne.

Prince Arjun was as extravagant as his family home in robes of red and gold. Beads and jewels dripped from his arms and neck, a ring on every finger, all blood red set in gold. His jet black hair was smooth and silky, brushed to perfection by one of his many servants, and his dark eyes sparkled with knowledge and mischievous delight. His hair, too, was covered in gold chains, his entire head nearly obscured by earrings and a hooped nose ring of the same metal. His slippers alone were worth more than the life pay of an average man in the city, curled at the toes and once again encrusted with the purest of gems.

The young prince had read every book, every scroll in the city, and although he knew a lot, the Eagle very much doubted his ability to apply it, or even function in the real world. Sure, he had reserve upon reserve of charm, but a day outside the palace could spell his doom, especially when his father had worked so hard to make sure the city resented the entire family. Prince Arjun had a wit about him, that was for sure, and something sinister hidden beneath those eyes, and whilst he'd trained in the art of swordfighting from the age of five, the Eagle still worried for his future. His father's subjects grew restless, especially now when they wanted nothing more than justice reigned upon the worst criminal the city had seen in nearly a lifetime, and their prince could not give it to them. His own trusted guards had been outwitted by a half-dead farmer, and they didn't even have its broken body to show for their efforts.

Right now the the king's throne dwarfed Arjun's slender body, and for once he was not slouched across the thing, but sat upright as he plotted and planned and tried to be the man- monster, even- his father raised him to be.

"Are you sure you searched thoroughly?" he asked, still distracted by his web of complex thoughts. "That dog could have crawled off to die somewhere else. Either way, we know it couldn't have gotten far on its own, not after falling from that height."

"We searched," the Falcon interjected, "believe me, we searched the entire area."

"However," continued the Eagle, "funny you should mention it not being able to get away alone, because we have evidence to believe it didn't."

"Oh?" the prince sat up straighter, dark eyes fixed on his bounty hunter. The Eagle sat before him, on a pouf comically small for his wide frame. Meanwhile, in the corner of both their sights, the Falcon paced the room, framed by the arches leading to the gardens and the translucent curtains and trains of beads.

"Wagon tracks," the Eagle replied, "headed north, fresh."

"We found blood next to them," the Falcon added, "also fresh and most likely belonging to it. There were no new corpses it could've come from."

"On your order, sire, we will track them down," the Eagle finished, "and anyone caught helping that scum will be punished accordingly."

"Good," a slow smile grew across prince Arjun's face, "we must leave at once before the trail goes cold! Ready the horses!" And with that, he shot up with a flourish, robes billowing as he crossed the room in a series of short, graceful movements.

"Wait," the Eagle just watched him, dumbstruck. "Where are you going?"

"Is it not obvious?" prince Arjun wheeled around, every inch of him sparkling in the candlelight down to his eyes, "I must accompany you on your mission! Try not to take offense to this, my dear bounty hunters, but you have failed me. I need to see it does not happen again."

"It was a minor setback," the Falcon spoke up, "we were not counting on it surviving the fall, let alone someone coming along and finding it."

"Nevertheless," prince Arjun waved a hand, "I give second chances to none but the two of you. That will not make me forgiving, mind you, and I am afraid I must keep a closer eye on you. Not to mention, I want to question it myself."

"My lord," the moment the prince turned, the Eagle was behind him, "I do not think you comprehend just why we fret. You cannot even leave the palace for fear of assassination, yet you want to take your chances in a cruel, hostile world? We fear you will not last?" He raised his hands, hovering just above the prince's shoulders, but not touching.

"Oh?" the prince glanced behind him, face dark.

"There is many a pitiful fate that would await you if we were to fall out there," the Eagle continued, voice like oil, "emaciated in the desert, in chains in the dark living an unspeakable life, or even dead at the hands of that monster. We cannot have a kingdom without its future king."

And in the blink of an eye, the prince had a knife to his throat, the tiny dagger barely visible in his hands a millimeter from his Adam's apple. The Eagle glanced down to find Arjun's other hand by his side, a throwing knife laced through each finger.

"Oh Sadik," he murmured, "surely you must know I am more capable than I look."

"Of course," Sadik wasn't completely convinced. Arjun knew how to fight, but he was still rather sheltered, both thanks to his parents. It wasn't often the man wasn't in a position of power, something he would be completely without in the Wilderness, outside his and his father's domain.

Sadik knew he was as good a bodyguard as it got, but out there anything could go wrong, and if the man he'd sworn his heart and soul to was to perish out there...

Well, it would be yet another reason to tear the dog they were chasing apart with his bare hands.

"A thousand rooms in this place, and you cannot find one for your privacy," the Falcon's lip curled and he glanced away awkwardly.

"We have a room, Naranbaatar," Sadik growled, "find your own."

"Please, my dear guards," prince Arjun raised his hands, "we are all friends here. Though, dear Sadik, my Eagle, I do have one request."

"And what would that be?" Sadik buried his nose in the other's neck, mostly to irritate his cousin.

"I know you now have a personal vendetta against your target, but I must implore you do not aim to kill. Maim it all you want, but I need it alive."

"No," Sadik growled, "it deserves to die! I must be the one to kill it!"

"I am sure many families now share your wish," Arjun sighed, "but I need it alive long enough to question it. We must know why it thought in its twisted mind to commit such a crime."

"But-"

"Once I am done, however," a sickly grin spread across his face, "you shall have all the time in the world to enact out the appropriate revenge."

...

 **I'm not sure what to say here, other than I thank you for your patience. Also Sadik's son mentioned is TRNC, naturally.**

 **I swear between this and SOTF, Hunapo's bones must be made of glass or something.**

 **Also 'I spit on your grave' by Ghoultown is 100% best and most fitting song for this fic!**


	4. Logan

_Hi again, it's me._

 _See, I am updating this. Now that our unfortunate main couple have met, what hijinks will they get up to?_

 _Did I really just use the word hijinks? What the fuck is wrong with me? Oh just put me in a skip outside a takeaway I'd be more useful in a kebab._

 _Yeah, again, trying to finish my other Western first so there'll be a smaller load, which is why I haven't been updating anything else lately, but this had been nearly finished for a while so thought I might as well go ahead and round it off. I'm also in the middle of the 30 day OTP prompts challenge, which I'm posting on my writing tumblr Republic-of-Yolossia if you're interested. Okay, plugs aside, here's the fic._

...

Everything hurt.

They were brought into the world of the living with a groan, knowing they were alive because they were still in an immense amount of agony. The day they woke up and the pain was gone would be the day they woke up dead, something- now they'd somehow survived the fall- they were keen to put off. Unless they'd been caught and arrested then they wouldn't have a choice and after the horrendous unknown they'd be subjected to to get that meaningless- but fatal- confession, they would be tied to the chair and fried beyond all hope of survival. And publically too. Gotta teach those children to not grow up to be pieces of shit, right?

Their arm throbbed as their head swam, only aware that they were lying on a lumpy wooden floor, possibly in a jail cell. Hopefully not. Please do not be a jail cell. Of all the ways to die, tortured and executed was incredibly far down on Hunapo's list.

But where else could they be?

Clearly, Hunapo thought with all the thinking power their battered brain could muster, they had been knocked out by their fall, scraped off the floor and dumped here. Like the bounty hunters said would happen.

They could feel the warmth of another, a breath on their face, possibly more than one person in their cell lying in wait for them to wake up. News travelled fast in their city, even through the thick walls and deep dungeons of the prison. They would know. They would know full well what Hunapo had been accused of and the little farmer knew there was a chance they might not even survive until the torture began.

The unforgivable crime they'd been accused of was so severe every piece of shit murderer and rapist in their cell would suddenly feel the rush in their skulls of being on the moral high ground for once, and not give a shit if what they'd heard was true or not. They also wouldn't hold back in making them feel the agony they'd supposedly inflicted on… yeah. They were doomed.

As their mind twisted and writhed, mirroring their body's pain, Hunapo was starting to believe it was what they deserved.

Maybe it was time to wake up and face their fate.

With great reluctance, Hunapo prized their eyelids open, thankful for the dim light through the soft canvas room they found themselves in. Their brain could barely process the bright colours hanging from the ceiling and stacked against the walls: beads and jars of paint, it seemed, along with planks of wood, scrap metal and half-finished projects.

But, perhaps, the most startling of all, was a face that erupted into their line of sight the moment they opened their eyes.

The face belonged to a young man, aged before his time but the boyish charm was still there, underneath the lines and rough, weather-worn skin. Grey-green eyes lined with wrinkles of laughter past gleamed down at them, mouth pulled into a worried frown, distorted by the many scars littering his lower face, particularly a large one across his crooked nose. He was handsome, Hunapo had to admit, with dark hair, thick eyebrows and a strong jaw.

Not that that was the most pressing matter for Hunapo, for as soon as that face entered their vision, they gave a yelp and tried to scramble away, only to be met with glaring pain shooting up their right arm once more as their vision was filled with a gaping void of swirling clouds, their body hanging by a splinter. Gunshots. Falling. Torment. Falling. The sickening crack as unbearable hurt pulsed through their body and their arm shattered.

Hunapo tried to scream but their chest tightened at the movement, like their ribs were a jar of knives being squeezed and broken into shards.

"Hey, careful there;" so the face came with a voice then. "You'll go hurt yourself some more. Look, don't worry. I'm friendly."

Friendly? Was that really a concept in this world anymore? Whatever this world was. Fuck knows where they were now.

"Whe-" talking hurt, unsurprisingly. Their voice came out a stony rasp, punctuated with a whimper. Hunapo's head swam at the effort to stay conscious, simply focusing on the stranger's face, now that they were no longer trying to wriggle away from him.

"Where are you?" The young man gave a hopeful smile, "the Wilderness, of course. I hope this doesn't come as bad news."

"I made it?" Hunapo managed to splutter out. Should they be relieved or not?

The stranger gave them an odd look. Understanding? Had he come from a city too?

"You're not the first person I found hanging from the Suicide Tree," he told them, "but I don't find many alive. They all had that expression though, relieved, nervous, the one you're wearing now. Don't really blame you, but I daren't ask what sort of place you fell from."

"A place that wanted me dead," Hunapo mumbled.

Again, familiarity was across the man's features but it was nice to know, Hunapo supposed through their bleariness, that there was someone else looking out for those who attempted to fall.

"So where are we in particular?" They asked, keen for a change of subject, "this place seems very… oh what's the word? Quaint. Yes, that's it. I like what you have done with the place."

The stranger laughed at that, waving an arm at the items on display. "I did jack shit! This is all my little brothers and sister. Bright kids. They're outside getting supplies and a doctor. Oh, this place is our wagon, where we live and all."

"Nomads?" Hunapo raised their eyebrows, "I've never met people with such lifestyle before." They knew travellers had occasionally braved the climb into the city to trade, but had never talked to one personally. Why people were willing to risk so much to visit a place such as that?

Especially since there was no way to get back down alive and said nomads would be forced to remain in the city or attempt a jump. Some tried to keep their lifestyle up, roaming the city, but it could never be the same. The place dragged one's soul down into the gutter and didn't let go.

"Oh, well here we are," the stranger grinned, "was I what you were expecting?"

"I don't know what I was expecting."

"I see." The stranger's smile never seemed to truly leave his face, something that, surprisingly, didn't unnerve Hunapo. "Oh, the name's Logan Apari Cooper. The kids call me Logie."

"Hunapo Davies," Hunapo replied with a polite smile, "a pleasure to meet you, to say the least. Truly, I owe you my life."

"It's no problem at all," Logan waved a hand, and Huna could see his muscles rippling under his shirt. They could very well believe it was no problem for him to just pluck them from wherever they'd gotten stuck, but they still felt guilty. After all, they were using his supplies, his bandages, his time. They had to leave as soon as they could and be on their own merry way before they became too much of a burden.

That didn't appear to be anywhere on Logan's mind though. "So, I know this is probably a sensitive topic, and you do not have to answer anything, but, well, why?"

"I don't understand."

"Why did you jump?" Logan reiterated with a quiet mutter, "what is it about that place?"

"Oh." Well, they should've expected the question sooner or later. "I was accused of a terrible, terrible crime. Something unforgivable-"

"And you were falsely accused, so decided to jump instead of being captured," Logan finished.

"They were going to kill me," Hunapo couldn't suppress a shudder, "the whole city was after my blood. I had no choice..."

"I understand." After a moment's hesitation, Logan leaned forward and rested his hand on Huna's, not the one wrapped up in a crude bandage, but the one poking out of their blankets and lying flat across their chest.

Their chest? Oh God why?

Hunapo squirmed as they removed their hand, burying it under their blanket.

"Oh, sorry," Logan withdrew his hand sharply, "did I offend-"

"No, no, it's just..." Hunapo glanced away, wishing they could just curl up and bury themselves under their blanket. "This is difficult to explain."

"Hey, take your time," Logan threw them a reassuring smile, "you've had an ordeal and I'm here to listen, little buddy."

"Okay, well, if you call me little one more time then you and me are gonna have a serious problem," Huna told him, only partially joking.

"Everyone is little to me," Logan pointed out.

"Be that as it may, the fact of the matter is what I am trying to say is… delicate."

"Then talk away."

"I understand you had to take my coat and shirt, I really do," they began, "you know, to treat my arm. I, I am not angry at all, but I just don't like taking my clothes off. It's a personal thing and you weren't to know."

"Well yeah my brother needed to treat your arm," explained Logan. "We weren't looking at anything if that's what you're worried about."

"It isn't that," Huna sighed, "I need certain things to say a secret. My sex. I am only comfortable when people can't tell. It makes me feel safe, in a way."

"Erm, I see." Logan looked away, for once appearing lost for words.

"I understand if you don't understand," they added, "it's an unusual situation and I have yet to find someone like me."

"Sounds like a lonely experience," Logan muttered. "I don't fully understand, you're right about that, but I get the general idea. So you don't want to be called a boy or girl?"

"Exactly! I am neither."

"Okay, I can buy that. Sounds like another case a heard, the doctor's very wife, funny enough."

Hunapo perked up. "Oh? Do tell."

"Miss Lalande, now Mrs Angelopoulos, was born a little boy, but she wasn't, she explained it to me a while back. She never felt right until she told her then fiance about it and he gave her these seeds that change her body and now she looks completely like a woman. No one can tell. I dunno but it might be worth talking to her."

"It might be, thank you." Hunapo was looking forward to meeting this couple now, not least because their arm was still agonizing.

"Until then, I got all these blankets to cover ya," Logan tried, "since you can't put your coat on just yet."

"Thank you." Hunapo settled back down, head swimming. It was a little too much to take in right now, not helped by the fact that their brain was running at minimum capacity. This was wonderful news though, the idea of not being chased and hunted down and executed.

Oh that wouldn't be the case though, would it?

All they'd gone and done was put innocent people in danger.

"How far away from my city are we?" Hunapo tried to sit up as they uttered those desperate words, but Logan pushed them back to the floor gently as he could.

"Don't strain yourself," he warned, voice so soft his words were clumsy from the effort of keeping it at that tone, "look, we couldn't go far until you woke up, cause I have no idea where you want to go. Plus, we need to trade at this bazaar and find a doctor for you. My brother's smart, but he can't make bones heal. After that, we'll be out of here."

"Oh, well, when that's done, you can just drop me off here. I can find a way to travel further," Hunapo tried to give a reassuring smile, but Logan just glared at them, mouth drawn into a thin line. "Honestly! I have some money."

"Money doesn't buy shit out here," Logan told them gruffly, "maybe gold coins that can be melted down, but those rags I see people with sometimes? No way. The only way to get something you want is by trading. It's why my kids spend so much of their time making things."

Hunapo groaned, trying their utmost to hide their wobbling bottom lip. "Oh. Well, I can find something."

"Oy, I won't hear of this! Not another damn word!" Logan wrinkled his disfigured nose at that. "You can stay as long as you want, mate. Once Dr Angel's had a look at you, you can travel with us as far as you need. We need to cover a lot of distance so there's no chance of hanging round here anyway." His smile did nothing to relieve them though. "We'll look after ya!"

Hunapo just glared at their hands. "I'm no one's burden."

"Well if that bothers you, then let me explain that out here, everyone contributes to their own and their group's survival. What was your job up in the city?"

"Um, a farmer. Livestock farmer."

"Well there ya go!" Logan threw his arms wide; "you must have some skills that'll be us use down with us!"

"If you say so..."

"And you're gonna take weeks to heal anyway," added Logan, "even with Dr Angel's help. We can't be waiting here that long waiting for you to feel better. So you're stuck with us for a while."

"No of course not," Hunapo shuddered. "They would catch up." Their palms slicked with sweat even just thinking about it. They weren't out of trouble in even the remotest sense of the word, if what they'd heard about the prince and his bounty hunters was true.

"How?" Logan scoffed, waving a hand, "there's no way to get down from your city, right?"

"They'd find a way." Hunapo wanted to bury their face in their hands at the thought, and they would've if one wasn't a little kaput. "I've got the two best bounty hunters in the city- maybe the world- on my back, and they have a personal vendetta against me! You don't just humiliate two trained killers like I did and survive for long."

Logan snorted. "Can't be that good if you could escape them in the state you were in. Seriously, Oscar saw intestine through that stab wound of yours."

Hunapo thought they'd be sick. "It's that bad then? I'm stuck here, putting you and your family in danger?"

"What do you mean?"

With their good hand, Hunapo reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his coat. "They'll hunt me down, Logan. They will not stop until I'm in a prison cell and about to die. And they'll kill you and your kids for shielding me."

And only now did Logan seem to get the message. His smile was gone, as was his glare, and he just stared at the floor, mind whirring though his face was blank.

"You've been kind to me and I can't let any more people get hurt because… please. I'd rather die than put you or your family in danger. I have morals, after all."

Logan rolled his eyes at that. "Well what would be the point of me saving you then letting you die. Come on, I'm a tough guy. Look at me!" He flexed the muscles in his arms, and Huna couldn't say they weren't impressed. "I've been getting my family out of near-death situations for years now! You think I got like this from being a coward? No way!"

"Against trained killers though?" Hunapo glared at him skeptically.

"Fuck 'em."

"But-"

Logan pressed a finger to their lips, glare back in place. "Hey, I know what it's like getting chased out of my home. Ya think anyone here is here by choice? I spent my sixteenth birthday saving my idiot brother from a pack of giant crocs. These dipshits don't scare me one bit."

They'd not even noticed they'd started crying, but with the guilt wracking through their body, they knew they shouldn't be so surprised. "Logan-"

"No, no, shh, shh, you're safe here. No one's gonna hurt ya again." The smile- warm as a sunset- almost convinced them for one moment.

"Logan, thank you."


	5. The old bazaar

_I'm so sorry for the lateness; I was trying to get other things done I'm sure you know by now. Anyway, with SOTF done and dusted, I can focus on this as my sole western-themed fic, though to be honest the world here's more based on the Australian outback [but exaggerated] than the wild west. Wild Western Australia maybe? I don't know._

...

They couldn't give a flying fuck about what Logan said or thought, Hunapo still felt like a burden. And a massive one at that. This family had next to nothing and they were risking what little they had to protect them from what was clearly an inevitable death. What for? Hunapo considered themselves kindhearted, but this was a level of selflessness even they would struggle to see the positives in.

Hunapo's first night with the Cooper clan wasn't the most comfortable, and they couldn't help missing their own cosy hammock and the lulling smells and sounds of their sheep, in their own house on their own with no snoring children- or full grown man whose disfigured nose made him sound like a train. The Wilderness got deathly cold at night, something they'd not accounted for, and even under their piles of blankets they'd shivered, kept awake by chattering teeth. It was only when Logan pulled them close, sharing his blanket and his warmth as he wrapped his arms around them that they began to feel a little toasty, torn between horror and gratitude. He smelt, but boy was he warm and cuddly with body heat to spare. Despite the impossible situation and the soul-crushing fear and dull throbbing pains from broken limb and stab wound, there was something comforting about being in his arms. They felt protected, maybe even safe, though they knew they shouldn't. It was a temporary security, but a welcome one indeed.

The next day, they awoke to a strangely cold body and the sounds of Logan barking orders from outside their wagon. At what was presumably the twins, given that Oscar was slumped in the corner and carving furiously at a block of wood. It didn't seem to be related to any of his other ongoing projects hanging from the roof, rather a little trinket of some sort, some strange animal Hunapo didn't recognise yet, and might not at all.

He also happened to be wearing their hat.

Hunapo had passed out before the three younger siblings had made it back- only waking up when the cold got too much last night-, and still felt out of the loop, and more than a little disorientated. What had they all decided on whilst Huna was asleep? They'd ask Oscar, but weren't too sure if they were up for conversation just yet, so elected to make the most of not being noticed.

Once more, the capacity to fully process the detail of the wagon eluded them for the time being, their head aching as they glanced from pots and pans to knives, gloves and anything a person would need for life out here. The canvas itself seemed to have been painted by the children some number of years ago: faded, crude stick figures barely visible under more competent drawings of fearsome creatures and feral scenery, broken in the harsh morning light glaring through the walls.

It seemed almost all the blankets had been draped across them- presumably by Logan when everyone got up- and now they were sweating horribly under the crushing heat. It was borderline unbearable.

Some relief came at the rattle of the floorboards beneath them, the wagon rumbling into movement. Travelling was good. The further they got, the more time it bought them and Hunapo could relax, if only for a little while. At least they could kid themselves into thinking they were progressing, and cheating death for a few days wouldn't be so bad. It gave them time to prepare.

When they went to pull a few layers of blankets off, it attracted the attention of their busy companion.

"Oh? You're awake then. Glad to meet you at last." The faux curiosity etched across his face took them by surprise. The overwhelming insincerity in everything he did in the short moment they'd been watching him, like he was forcing himself to show an interest, forcing his mouth into a small 'o' and struggling to keep control of his face.

At least he was being polite, though. Somewhat.

"Oscar, right?"

"Tis so. A pleasure." Was he this disinterested about everything?

"That's a cute little doodad you're making there," they tried.

At last. A genuine smile. "Thank you. It's a wilderbunny- um, you'll probably come across one at some point. Very cute. Very tasty."

"I'm sure I will," murmured Hunapo. "Where are we going anyway?"

"North." And there he went, back to barely-concealed disinterest.

"It's good to be moving. Did your brother explain my situation?"

"Yes, briefly." Thank you for putting my family in danger, his eyes seemed to add. "No one will catch you out here."

"Oh, did you find a doctor?"

"In a way. It seems we missed him by a day, but I heard of where he was headed so we should catch up soon enough."

"I see. And are you aware you have my hat?"

"Oh?" His favourite word, apparently. "No I had no idea. I thought its owner was… no longer in need of it, shall we say?" He seemed to debate with himself for a moment, finally relenting and removing the item from his head.

"Keep it for now," Hunapo waved their good hand airily, "I have no need for it right at this moment."

Oscar simply nodded, turning back to his wood carving.

"Is that talking I hear?" Logan poked his head through the curtains towards the front of the wagon, eyes grinning though his mouth was covered.

"Morning," Hunapo greeted blearily, whilst Oscar responded with a grunt.

"Get a good night's sleep?" His eyebrows twitched upwards at that; "you seemed to settle down once you warmed up."

"Yes fine," they replied a little too quickly, "thank you. Um, who is driving this thing?"

"Charlie," Logan gave a shrug, crawling in to sit between the other two. When he pulled down his mask, that cheery smile was there waiting for them. "She and Bili will be fine for a few minutes." The way he leaned over to ruffle their hair was plain patronising and they didn't appreciate the contact. He didn't seem to notice at all though. In fact, he barely cared when Oscar swatted his hand away when he went to do the same to him.

"So there was no trouble while I was out?" they asked tentatively. The first sign of danger, and they were getting these people out of the way. Hunapo wouldn't last long running on foot in their condition, but all that mattered was reducing the number of innocent lives that would be taken.

"Oh no, everything went smooth as could be! We moved away from the bazaar and camped in a ravine, nice and out the way. No one is tailing us yet."

"Good, good," a heavy silence fell on the three.

"Look, try not to worry, I keep saying," Logan insisted, "no one will touch you out here."

Hunapo didn't grace him with a reply, and Logan soon left to check the twins weren't driving them all off a cliff.

"Your brother is certainly..." loud? Mildly irritating? Stupidly stubborn? "A lot to take in at once."

Oscar nodded.

"How do you put up with him?"

A shrug.

Hunapo groaned. "Look, did I do something to offend you? Because if so, I'm sorry, but the cold shoulder is not helping anyone."

Oscar sighed, setting down his little wooden wilderbunny. "No, nothing of the sorts. I..." He seemed unsure if he wanted to elaborate, debating with himself before finally giving in; "we don't get much contact with outsiders."

"I suppose you don't."

"You being here. Up close. It's taking some getting used to. I need to work and it's a little off-putting, you being here. Staring."

"I get the idea." They tried to throw the kid a friendly smile, before scrambling up to their knees, slow and tender, keeping a blanket wrapped around them as they crawled to the far end of the wagon, right at the back to stare out at the world they passed.

...

"You better have news for me."

Even in his simple civilian rags, prince Arjun held on to his intimidating air, a tapping foot accompanying his sharp glare at the sight of the Eagle and Falcon coming back empty-handed. He'd spent a good part of the past hour fidgeting, pacing backwards and forwards across the entrance to the bazaar, a little courtyard bordered by windbreakers, ignoring everyone who tried to welcome him, or offer any of their wares. A cutting glower soon sent any curious children running back inside the labyrinth of rugs and stalls to find their parents, and if anyone thought about starting something with him, they soon changed their minds with a glance. He wasn't exactly fussed about his concealed weapons not being completely concealed if they intimidated enough people.

And now, his customary glare was telling Sadik there better be good news about to leave his lips.

"It's not there," he had to admit. Boy, did he hate how crushed his prince looked at that. He had wanted to lash out at the news too.

"What do you mean by that?" Arjun wrinkled his nose, "this network of hovels is the only thing close to civilization for miles; where else could it go?"

"We do know that, somewhat," Naranbaatar added helpfully. For most of the journey so far, he'd let his cousin do the talking, preferring to tend to their horses- giant iron beasts billowing smoke that needed constant attention and maintenance. Even now he'd simply moved past the others to check their cogs and furnaces.

"Please, elaborate," cried Arjun exasperatedly when the other appeared to drop out of the conversation.

"Apparently some children were asking for a doctor," Sadik filled in helpfully, "because they saved someone from a 'Suicide Tree' who is badly injured and urgently needs medical attention."

"The Suicide Tree, of course, being..."

"Our city," Sadik sighed, eyebrows shooting up, "shame to think it has such a bad reputation."

"Among bottom feeders too." Arjun wrinkled his nose as he glanced around.

"Tell me about it," spat Naranbaatar, "everything you could imagine to be illegal in a real society goes on in there. I saw people stripped naked in chains, old men who have lost their minds to opium..."

"One man stabbed another for daring to complain about his goods," Sadik added.

"It is a den of disgusting filth and I feel unclean from even looking inside," Naranbaatar shivered at the memories. More people had offered him their bodies in that short hour than in his entire life and he just wanted to leave.

Arjun took in their complaints with amusement, silencing any more with a wave of the hand. "Then torch it."

"What?"

He huffed. "This place. Light a torch and burn it. Shoot anyone who tries to leave."

"We cannot," cried Sadik.

"Besides, it is out of your realm," Naranbaatar added, "your father's law does not apply here."

"No law applies here. So I say burn it to the ground."

"But-"

"You both want to; I know you do."

It was Naranbaatar who relented first, ripping a torch from the frame of the bazaar's entrance and pressing it against the canvas. It caught fire easily in the parched air, swallowing the fabric as he smothered the tips of his arrows in gasoline- kept in a flask on his belt for such a purpose- and fired them right into the maze of tents. Within seconds, screams of panic rose with smoke as the two hunters readied their weapons.

...

Their stomach ached and throbbed from sitting up for so long, slumped against the wooden frame of the wagon and looking out over a mess of smoke and cracked earth that hurt their eyes to focus on for too long. The sun was a faint yellow light behind choking masses of clouds, and frequently the pungent scent of sulphur and decay would assault their nostrils, as if they didn't need any more reasons to feel completely under the weather. At times it could be oddly beautiful, glimmers of fiery sky illuminating rugged landscape.

Often, the twins would fall behind as they played, never falling out of sight of the wagon though some of their silly stunts would send Huna's heart leaping into their mouth, but these children knew what they were doing apparently. When the twins spotted them, they bristled with excitement as they drew closer, calling out greetings and questions like Hunapo was the most fascinating being they'd met. Talking exhausted them, but they humoured the children for as long as they could manage. Luckily, Bili and Charlie were soon distracted by wanting to push ahead of their oldest brother, so soared away to pass Logan.

"It's unusual for my brother to do this, you know?"

Oscar's words pulled them out of their little cloud of worry, the one that had descended now they were alone, the one that made them wonder what would happen to those children if the Eagle and Falcon ever found them. Would they ever manage to outrun those two? "Meaning?"

"Logan rescues people then drops them off at the bazaar. What happens to them then is not our concern." When Hunapo turned around, they found Oscar staring at him intently, his attention bought for the first time all day. "What changed with you? No offense but you never stood out to me."

"None taken," Hunapo gave a tiny smile, "I appreciate honesty. I think you should ask Logan yourself though."

"So you don't know?"

They shrugged. "I know next to nothing about your brother. What makes you think I have the answers?"

"Didn't hurt to ask."

"Logan seems protective though," fiercely so, "and I am rather, well, I was dying. Maybe that could have something to do with it."

"See? You did have an answer. Or a theory, at least."

Hunapo's smile mirrored Oscar's; maybe the boy wasn't so bad after all.

...

 **I really want to finish this quickly -dying whale noises- I'm trying really hard with this and want to move along with the plot.**


End file.
